


The Prince Your Brother

by DaughterofProspero



Category: Much Ado About Nothing - Shakespeare, SHAKESPEARE William - Works
Genre: Betrayal, Brothers, POV Third Person, Pre-Canon, Rebellion, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-05
Updated: 2016-02-05
Packaged: 2018-05-18 08:36:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5914984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DaughterofProspero/pseuds/DaughterofProspero
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You have of late stood out against your brother, and he hath<br/>ta'en you newly into his grace; where it is<br/>impossible you should take true root but by the<br/>fair weather that you make yourself: it is needful<br/>that you frame the season for your own harvest."</p>
<p>The Don John rebellion: Short and bitter. <br/>Don Pedro cannot help but wonder "Am I my brother's keeper?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Prince Your Brother

Victory had been no great challenge for Don Pedro.

John’s rebellion, while unexpected, was comprised mainly of working-class men who were paid to fight. Fed with half-baked promises and a steady wage, they gave it their all, but so few of them were trained in combat it could hardly be called a battle.

Some men had been lost on Aragon’s side but they were few and far between. John was not so lucky. In just over a week, dozens of widows were made – their distant ululations rising in volume as the days went on. Pedro did what he could to compensate for the family’s losses after the fighting had ended but a bag of gold and stiff condolences are the definition of insufficiency where death is concerned.

In fact, the majority of casualties for Aragon were not on the field, but from inside their camp. Courtesy of John’s ace up his sleeve: Two assassins. In the middle of the night on the fifth day of fighting the black-shrouded figures crept across enemy lines and approached a tent full of sleeping soldiers. Three of Pedro’s men had their throats cut before the alarm was raised. The first assassin was swarmed by vengeful comrades of the deceased – novices, but many in number. The second was wounded but managed to escape. He was found later that afternoon by a search party hiding up in a tree, dead from blood-loss.

This stealthy maneuver on John’s part so enraged Pedro and his soldiers it ironically became the turning point in the battle. Meant to be John’s trump card, it had undone him.

For a long while Pedro chid himself for not predicting (and thus, preventing) the trademark underhandedness of his step-brother. Nine men were injured in the attack, and four (plus the three who were killed in their sleep) had died. The only one in that area to emerge unscathed was a young Florentine Count: Claudio by name – also the man who dealt the final blow to the first assassin. He’d been promoted due to that, and since had become a sort of protégé to Pedro, (though pomposity in lieu of the victory was becoming more and more apparent).

It was Claudio who brought Pedro the intelligence that John was planning to make a run for it eight days into the rebellion. With dwindling recruits, no more tricks up his sleeve, and defeat drawing closer with every passing hour; he – along with two choice servants – planned on slipping away, and absconding to France.

It was Claudio who suggested they strike John’s base and kill whoever was in there, and it was Signior Benedick who shut the young man up. Having been in Pedro’s service, and at his right hand for more than half of Claudio’s life; Benedick – though no stranger to arrogance himself – knew when a decision was not his to make. Guiding Claudio out of the room, with a firm hand on his shoulder, the two left Pedro to contemplate his course of action.

Only Benedick suspected that Pedro was still unsure of how to proceed when a group of them left to ambush John. Detaining him was simple, it was what to do with the bastard prince afterwards that was the issue. Capture or kill. Is it fratricide if he’s a bastard? If he deserves it?

Fanning out around John’s suspiciously inactive base, Pedro and company wait with bated breath for any sign of movement. Minutes tick slowly by and there is nothing…

Then a door opens and scurrying out like rats abandoning a sinking ship are two men, flanking a third. Faces covered, laden down with packs and protruding supplies, they dash stealthily away from the rebellion they (well, one of them) incited.

Pedro gives the signal and his men fly into action, running after the betrayers. Almost immediately after the pursuit begins, two figures – the one on the left and the one in the middle – break off aiming for the cover of underbrush. The servant on the left begins reaching into his pack and tossing objects at their pursuers, meant to either trip or maim; but Pedro’s men are dextrous and quickly gain ground.

All but one gives chase, Pedro himself remains behind.

“Claudio!” He calls “With me!” But the Count doesn’t hear; the wind whistling past his ears as he doggedly vies for triumph. A split second after Pedro’s summons, Benedick comes to his Prince’s aid in Claudio’s place. Without missing a beat, the two turn away from the pack hunt and set a course of their own, after the third figure – the one on the right – who is making a beeline for the village where, no doubt, refuge awaits.

Legs pumping, teeth gritted, breaths snarls, the duo fly after their prey. Benedick – the taller of the two – is nearly alongside the masked runner, when he jerks backwards, the flash of a dagger glinting in the crepuscular light narrowly missing his torso. In a last effort to stop the runner before he falls, Benedick flails his arm and grabs a small handful of the runner’s pants. Not enough to stop, but enough to cause a stumble.

Sure enough, as Benedick hits the ground, the runner trips and desperately tries to maintain his balance – just enough of a delay for Pedro to over take him, slamming into the figure from behind and knocking the runner to the ground.

A little sore, but by no means winded, Benedick wrenches the knife out of the runner’s hand and tosses it a few feet away, effectively disarming him. Pedro steps back, and in a smooth motion, removes his sword, pointing it at the man below him, still panting from the race. Gesturing with his head, Pedro orders Benedick to turn the runner over. Benedick does so, while also making sure that the scarf concealing the runner’s face is removed.

At any moment, Pedro expects to hear a distant cry of frustration come from the group that has no doubt apprehended the other two runners. For Don Pedro has his sword pointed directly at the throat of his bastard brother, disguised in servant’s garb.

Capture or kill.

The world is still for a moment as the two brothers stare each other down. John’s impassivity threatened by a dull fury festering behind his guarded eyes. Pedro: Princely in poise, but only barely keeping the ache wracking his chest at bay.

Capture or kill.

With sword still steady over John’s Jugular, Pedro extends his other hand to the traitor on the ground. John’s gaze reveals nothing. Benedick keeps quiet.

Slowly, deliberately John grasps his brother’s hand with his own and pulls himself to his feet, careful to avoid the sword. Uncertain silence. Then Pedro speaks.

“I’m sorry,” he says, wishing he understood. John removes his hand from his brother’s.

“We should go.”

Sword at the ready, Pedro escorts the prisoner Prince to Aragon’s base, Cain and Abel heavy on his shoulders.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I've had various thoughts at various points about what the deal was with the rebellion. Then thought "fuck it, I'll write" and this came out entirely different than anything I'd thought about before. So that's cool.  
> Suddenly: Headcanons
> 
> Thanks for reading! :)


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